


A Vainglorious Affair

by Spiro



Category: British Actor RPF, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Benelock, Fluff, M/M, Slash, Some crack-ness, To be clear I did right this as a joke for my friends, i don't actually ship it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiro/pseuds/Spiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes was in love with the actor who was playing himself. How unbelievably vain and unimaginative could he be? Some third-rate adult romance author could come up with something better for Christ sakes. AU fluff story where Sherlock Holmes falls in love with British actor Benedict Cumberbatch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Vainglorious Affair

 

It had started out as fleeting thought that entered his brain. A simple thought of ‘This man is exceptionally attractive.’ Now it was an irrational and infuriating crush that left his heart thumping and his actions clumsy.

Sherlock Holmes, the brilliant crime-solving genius, felt like a silly little teenage girl. Damn that dark curly hair, those beautiful eyes and ridiculous cheekbones, and, Jesus Christ, those fucking full, red lips that were just begging for Sherlock to kiss.

Goddammit. There he went again, gushing over Benedict Cumberbatch, the famous actor well known for playing Sherlock Holmes on the BBC. That's right. He was in love with the actor who was playing himself. How unbelievably vain and unimaginative could he be? Some third-rate adult romance author could come up with something better for Christ sakes.

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose and slowly took a deep breath. He needed to quiet his mind and focus. The center of his fantasies would be over at his place momentarily. Sherlock needed to recover his composure quickly. He had to get back into his normal, well normal for him, mindset of ‘a workaholic sociopath married to his job, who is only tolerating this actor because he has to.’ And he did have to. Lestrade (big fan of Benedict) had told him that he either let Benedict learn from him or he wouldn't be allowed to consult on the cases anymore. Bastard. So what else could he do but except? It would be far too boring not being able to consult.

However now he wasn't simply tolerating it, he was enjoying it. Sherlock had almost started jumping around in joy when Benedict's agent had called and told him Benedict wanted come over to talk a few things over with him about the new season. But then he had reminded himself that it would be absolutely ridiculous for him to indulge in something as juvenile as 'jumping for joy'. The thing was that Sherlock hadn't seen Benedict since he had finished his job shadowing before the first season had started. Sure, throughout the filming of both the first and second seasons Benedict had called him to ask how he would react to a few situations. They were short professional conversations but they never failed to leave Sherlock with an aching in his chest and butterflies in his stomach. He cursed Benedict for the second time that day, this time not just for his attractiveness but also for his gorgeous voice.

A knocking on his door caused Sherlock to jump and fall into a bookshelf, nearly toppling it over, but luckily catching it before it tipped over. Shaking his head and cursing his newly found (and Cumberbatch induced) clumsiness, Sherlock walked to the door and pulled it open. He found himself staring up into those lovely ever changing eyes of Benedict Cumberbatch.

Benedict grinned, “Hello Sherlock, you look well.”

Sherlock's stomach was doing odd little flips that he tried very hard to ignore.

“And you do too, Benedict,” Sherlock stepped out of the way and motioned for Benedict to come inside before closing the door behind him.

Sherlock turned to find Benedict was exclaiming his skull that was sitting on the fireplace.

“This place is as messy as I remember it,” Benedict said jokingly.

“Cleaning is a waste of time,” Sherlock said dismissively.  

Benedict smiled at him causing Sherlock's heart to palpitate, “Of course.”

"So what are you here about?"

"Oh, yes. I have two things. Firstly, I've been meaning to give you this," Benedict pulled out a DVD case from the inside pocket of his coat.

"It's the second season of Sherlock. I thought you might like to have it." He handed it to Sherlock who took it, although he already owned a copy.

Sherlock looked down at the cover and immediately regretted the action. He felt his cheeks begin to flame up as he looked at the handsome Benedict Cumberbatch dressed as himself. To hide the blush he turned suddenly and threw the case onto a pile of books.

"Thank you," He said quickly, "And your second order of business," he said, regaining his composure and turning to face the actor.

Benedict's eyes flicked from Sherlock's face to the case sitting on the pile then back to his face. If Sherlock had known any better he would have sworn that a look of hurt had flashed across the actor's face. He dismissed the idea.

"Yes of course," Benedict pulled out a packet of white papers from his coat, "I wanted you to look over the script for the season three premiere to see if it seemed realistic."

Sherlock took the packet and seated himself on the couch while Benedict took the chair next to it. The script was as ridiculous as ever. The crime was far-fetched and silly, and the explanation for Sherlock’s character’s escape from death was obviously half-assed. His character's deductions were outlandish and the character of Watson was as irritating as ever. Why on earth would he, Sherlock Holmes, need some army doctor to be his side-kick? Please, the idea was absurd.

He suppressed an urge to snarl when he read yet another jab at his (no the character based off of him) virginity. He still hadn't forgiven Anderson for calling him The Virgin when Benedict had been job shadowing. The nickname had unfortunately ended up in the television series much to Sherlock's dismay.

When Sherlock had finished he handed it back to Benedict.

"How was it?" Benedict asked eagerly.

"It is acceptable. I'm sure the fans will find it satisfactory."

Benedict blinked slowly, "That's good, I guess."

"However, you could have sent both the script and the DVD to me. There was no need to come."

"I see," Benedict stood quickly, "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but Benedict was already at the door, "I'll be leaving now."

As the door was closing behind him, Sherlock heard Benedict mumble in a hurt voice, "I just wanted to see you."

Sherlock stood staring at the door his mouth hanging open a bit and his hand reaching out to where Benedict had been just moments ago.

'Wanted to see you?' Did he mean that he wanted to see him, Sherlock? Sherlock continued to gape at the door, not quite sure how to feel about the whole situation. He wished very much to run after the actor but he found his feet were rooted to the spot.

"I am an utter twat," Sherlock muttered to himself.

He then threw himself onto his couch and buried his face into his hands.

"Damn."

...

 

This was a stupid idea, Sherlock thought. He was sitting in a taxi on his way to the set of the third season of Sherlock.

The director had been thrilled when had called to tell him that he wanted to see the set. He had talked Sherlock's ear off rambling on about directions to take that show and ideas for new crimes. Sherlock ended up lying and telling the man that Lestrade was calling and he had to go. Sherlock had little interest the actual filming; his only reason for going was to see Benedict.

Now he was starting to rethink his brilliant plan. What was he going to say to him when he just randomly shows up on the set?

"This was a stupid idea," Sherlock thought, aloud this time.

...

When Sherlock arrived on set some sort of crew member was waiting for him. He didn't bother listening to the young male (23 years old theater student. Gay and owns three cats) who was chatting excitedly at him.

"They are filming right now! I'll show you the set," the crew member grinned widely at him.

"Very well," Sherlock said, trying his best to calm his nerves.

They came to a circle of film crew members which included the director. They stood around two men. One was the man, Martin Freeman, that played the infuriating Doctor John Watson and, of course, the other was Benedict Cumberbatch.

Sherlock felt his heart skip a beat. He had seen each episode of the television series a few dozen times. He'd seen Benedict dressed in that long black coat and blue scarf more times than he could count but seeing him in person, it was incredible.

Sherlock all of a sudden had the urge to burst right through the circle of crew men and seize the lapels of that impossibly handsome man's coat and crush their lips together whilst running his hands through that beautifully curled dark hair. Let the consequences be damned.

That thought was promptly ripped from his mind when the director noticed him and yelled quite loudly, "Sherlock! You're here!" then he whispered angrily to the young crew member, "Why didn't you tell me he had arrived?"

The crew member flushed and spluttered.

"Because I just got here moments ago," Sherlock said smoothly. He noted that everyone, including Benedict, was now staring at him.

"Of course!" The director replied brightly, he turned to the rest of the crew, "Everyone, I'd like to introduce you to Mister Sherlock Holmes! He-"

The director was cut off by loud applause and whoops. Sherlock inclined his head slightly in response. He didn't quite understand why he was getting such a response. Of course he knew this was the crew of the show dedicated to his genius but he still didn't see how this was completely necessary.

"Yes, yes, very exciting!" The director said when the applause had died down, "However, Mr. Holmes is just here to observe things! We don't want to overwhelm the poor man." the director laughed and patted Sherlock's shoulder good-heartedly.

Sherlock wanted very much to hit him but instead he merely rolled his eyes.

His own personal sex god was moving through the crowd towards him, a curious smile was tugging on his lips. Sherlock stared at the gorgeous man as he parted his lips to speak, but Sherlock felt someone put a tight grip on his arm and steer him away from Benedict. He looked next to him to see the ever-so irritating director.

He was then led around the set and studio enduring near constant chatter about the inner workings of filming, introductions to random people, and endlessly pointless questions about his personal life. Sherlock found himself slowly going crazy because he really, truly did not care.

By the time they were at the actor’s trailers Sherlock was scowling and wishing he had slapped a couple more nicotine patches on this morning.

"Director," came a smooth voice from behind them. The two of them turned to find Benedict smiling politely at them, "Do you mind if I steal Sherlock from you for a little while?"

‘You can steal me for forever,’ Sherlock's mind said.

"Of course!" the director said with that never fading smile, "I have some footage to look through anyway."

They stood in silence watching the director walk away.

"He can be a bit overwhelming, I thought you looked like you needed some saving," Benedict grinned playfully.

"He is irritating to say the least," Sherlock agreed. He found his annoyance fading and being replaced by giddy nervousness.

"Would you like to join me in escaping the director by hiding in my trailer?" Benedict asked, motioning towards the nearest trailer.

"I'd be honored," Sherlock said with a slight smirk.

As soon as they entered his trailer Benedict threw himself down onto the couch. He arranged his long limps so his back was resting against the arm rest and his legs were stretched out in front of him across the whole of the couch. Sherlock took the nearest chair.

"So what brings you down here? I know you could care less about television production," Benedict raised a curious eyebrow at the detective.

Sherlock paused a moment trying to think of the best response. Finally he settled on the blatant truth. "I wanted to apologize for my behavior when you were over at my flat, I realized that I acted very rudely towards you and I wanted to apologize."

Sherlock, who had been nervously fidgeting with his gloves since they had walked in, paused and lifted his head to look at Benedict.

 

Benedict had his head tilted to the side and he was looking at Sherlock like he was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen, "Your apology is very kind but unnecessary. I realized that you were just being, well, you. Do not worry, my feelings remain unhurt."

There was a slight joking twist in his smile however his eyes showed that every word was the truth.

Sherlock blushed; he hadn't thought it possible for him to fall any harder for the actor. He had been wrong, very wrong.

Benedict started laughing loudly causing Sherlock to jump and stare at him.

"You’re blushing," he said between fits of giggles.

"I am not!" Sherlock retorted blushing more furiously than before.

"Yes you are. I didn't think the sociopathic Sherlock Holmes was capable of blushing." He had sat up now and was still laughing hysterically.

"Shut up!" Sherlock threw the British flag pillow he had been sitting on at him.

Benedict dodged easily, still laughing, though a bit less crazily.

"Sorry," Benedict said grinning and wiped a tear away. "I wasn't expecting it. You just looked so adorable."

Sherlock froze in the act of raising another pillow to throw at Benedict if he dared laugh at him again.

"What?" he said quietly, not sure he had heard the actor correctly.

It was Benedict's turn to start blushing. He seemed to have realized what he had just said.

"I um… Uh-" His whole face was an alarming shade of red. He had turned to away from Sherlock, not being able to look him in the eyes, and was rubbing a hand nervously on the back of his neck.

Benedict looked positively adorable and Sherlock couldn't fucking take it anymore.

He slipped off the chair so he was kneeling in front of the couch. He caught Benedict's chin between his forefinger and thumb forcing the actor to lean towards him. Sherlock hesitated for a mere half second before molding his lips to the petrified actor's ones.

Just as Sherlock began to fear that Benedict wasn't going to respond he felt a pair of long arms wind themselves around his neck pulling him closer. Benedict's mouth worked against his own and Sherlock found himself being pulled onto the actor's lap.

He gave a moan of satisfaction as he threaded his long fingers in Benedict's surprisingly soft dark brown curls. The actor nibbled at his bottom lip in a silent question and Sherlock was more than happy to oblige by opening his mouth for the actor. He allowed Benedict a few moments to explore his mouth before Sherlock tightened his grip in the actor's hair. He pressed himself even closer to the taller man and forced the other man's tongue back into his own mouth quickly followed it by Sherlock's own. Benedict let out a shaky moan at the sudden force that was swallowed up by Sherlock's mouth.

After Sherlock had thoroughly ravished Benedict's mouth, and the need for oxygen became far too apparent, he pulled away.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Sherlock said breathlessly.

Benedict grinned up at him. His lips were red and swollen, his cheeks were flushed, his pupils were blown wide with arousal, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly— he was a delicious sight to behold. Sherlock couldn't help but lick his lips.

"Oh really? Well, my dear Sherlock, I think I may have missed some of the details. Would you care to demonstrate that again?"

Sherlock laughed softly, "It would be my pleasure."

Sherlock swallowed up Benedict's deep rumble of a laugh by crashing their lips back together.

A head popped into view of one of Benedict's trailer windows. A soft click of a camera followed it that neither of the men could hear over their snogging. A few moments and clickings later the head slide out of view.

Martin Freeman laughed mischievously to himself as he flipped through the pictures of his costar and the consulting detective snogging.

It was about damn time. 

 

....Sometime later....

 

The sharp screeching of the alarm clock rudely ripped Sherlock Holmes from his sleep. He let out a groan.

"Noooooooo," he threw himself across the other occupant of the bed effectively pinning him down.

"Sherlock," Benedict's voice was husky from sleep and sexy as fuck. "Let me up so I can shut off the alarm."

"No," Sherlock buried his face in Benedict's bare chest and shook it violently.

The taller man sighed and ran a hand through the other man's lighter brown hair, "Please?"

Sherlock was about to respond with another defiant 'no' when the alarm started blaring again. He let out a growl of irritation and launched himself at the screaming box. He grabbed it with both hands and ripped it from the wall. He let it fly; a crash told him it hit something somewhere in the room. He didn't really care what. All of this took about five seconds and by the end of those five seconds he was latched back onto his own personal sex god.

"Sherlock..." Benedict sounded both exasperated and highly amused, "I have to go to work."

"No, you don't," Sherlock grumbled into to his neck.

"Let me up, please," Sherlock made no move to get up, "I'll do that thing you like tonight if you do?" Benedict said hopefully.

There was a long pause, "The one with the tongue and the scarf?"

"Yeah that one."

 

"Oh alright, fine," Sherlock sighed heavily and rolled off of him.

"Thank you, darling," Benedict kissed Sherlock's forehead and gave him a heart-stopping grin before getting up and stretching.

"I absolutely loath your job," Sherlock said sitting up and crossing his arms across his chest in annoyance.

"No you don't," Benedict said beaming at him.

"Yes I do. When it steals you away from me— I do," he said grumpily.

"Then that sentiment is shared, because I hate it when your job steals you from me."

"Touché," Sherlock grumbled under his breath. Benedict chuckled causing him shoot the other male a scowl.

Benedict merely just smiled lovingly down at his sulking boyfriend. He kissed the top of his sleep-ruffled brown hair before disappearing into the bathroom to take a shower.

Sherlock sighed and headed out to the kitchen to make some much needed tea.

\---

Sherlock waited a full ten minutes after Benedict left their flat before jumping off of the couch and throwing on his coat and scarf. He bounded out of the flat taking it two stairs at a time and burst out onto the street. He hailed a cab and gave the driver the addresses that Sherlock knew Benedict was filming at today for the second episode of season four of Sherlock.

This had become something of a habit for Sherlock. He would follow Benedict to his shoot and watch him as he acted.

Yes, it was technically stalking. No, he didn't care.

It was far too fascinating watching Benedict act - even better than smoking a whole pack of cigarettes - though, not as good as a serial killer. Shagging said actor was probably the best, when Sherlock thought about it, especially if he did that tongue-scarf thing.

His daydreaming was cut short when the cab pulled up to the set. He paid the driver and snuck as quickly as he could onto the set. It wouldn't do to be seen by a crew member or cast member. He'd be subjected to that director, again.

He found his spot— a perfect little nook where he could see everything but no one could see him.

He only sat there only a few minutes before a coffee cup was thrust under his nose.

"Good morning, Martin," Sherlock said taking the cup. "Thank you."

"Morning! And it's no problem, mate," Martin grinned at him and took a sip of his own coffee. "I think we'll have a good shoot today. You should enjoy it."

"I enjoy every shoot."

Martin's grin widened behind his cup.

"I'd better get to hair and make-up. See you around, Sherlock."

Sherlock watched him go. It was an odd sort of friendship they had developed. Martin had found him in his spot a few weeks into his Benedict-watching and had just smiled at him and asked how he took his coffee. He never told Benedict and never mentioned the voyeurism of the whole situation. Sherlock was grateful for that and had grown accustomed to the man's daily visits and coffee.

Sherlock looked up as the director called action. He smiled to himself when he saw Benedict slip into his Sherlock character. He settled down for a long day of boyfriend spying.

**Author's Note:**

> A wonderfully odd little story that two of my best friends decided I had to write. Later finished as a birthday gift for one of the two friends. The director in this was based on no one in particular. My friend Mutiepie.tumblr.com made an illustration for this story:  
> http://mutiepie.tumblr.com/image/47399830944 EDIT: The picture is no longer viewable. 
> 
> Comments are welcomed and appreciated!


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